Trying To Stop Your Leaving
by The Noble French Fry
Summary: She was leaving. Really leaving. Todayright now. [BB est. ship.][Long Trip Alone part 6. Can be read as a standalone]


**Title:** Trying To Stop Your Leaving  
**Summary:** She was leaving. Really leaving. Today--right now.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairings/Characters:** Booth/Brennan established relationship  
**Series:** Long Trip Alone, part 6/11 (Can be read as a stand-alone.)  
**Length:** 5700 words  
**Genres:** angst  
**A/N: **Holy crap, this took me FOREVER to write! I am SO sorry. Spring break and... yeah. Anway... Like most of the other Long Trip Alone fics, this can be read as a stand-alone. There's only one short nod to Prodigal Son's Prayer and The Heaven I'm Headed To, but that can also be translated as a reference to the last scene of 2x09. Thanks to xSomeHeartsx for the beta job!

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**Trying to Stop Your Leaving**

(Long Trip Alone part 6)

Coming home in the evening to Brennan was not as much of a pleasure for Booth as it had been in the recent past. He sat in his SUV, looking up at his apartment building. He didn't even want to go inside right now. Because instead of coming home to have some non-work-related time alone with her, he came home to the arguments that she had kept pent up inside all day.

For the past week or so, Brennan just seemed to be on the war path. She always seemed to be picking a fight over any and everything, and even though Booth tried his hardest not to let himself get dragged into arguments and fights with her, he did. Like debris was sucked into a whirling tornado.

One that solved nothing. All the fights did was send both of them to bed angry. Brennan angry with Booth over whatever, and Booth angry at himself for fighting with her when he really hadn't wanted to in the first place. Come morning time, Booth always said that he was sorry, even though he had nothing to apologize for. He just wanted things to be okay, so he patched them up as best as he knew how.

He never knew if the patch really held, though, because not much later, Brennan was back to the same old fighting and pushing again.

With a sigh, he stepped out of his SUV and locked it. The hot July air that he stepped into reminded him of how his and Brennan's relationship felt right now. Heated, thick, and uneasy. He felt like Brennan was building some sort of wall between them, trying her hardest to push them apart. In response, he was trying his hardest to tear that wall down and to fall into the space in between them.

He didn't think it was enough.

She was like sand leaking from between his fingers. The harder he tried to hold on to her, the more she slipped out and was carried away by the wind.

And right now, he didn't know what else he could do besides everything that he had already done.

Sighing, he took out the key to the apartment they had shared for probably a month or two now and started to unlock the door. Guiltily, part of him hoped that he had beat Brennan home tonight, and that she might be working a little late as she tended to do, giving him some quiet time to himself before she came home. That way he could possibly sit down, think, and maybe formulate a plan.

That faint hope was dashed when he opened the door and found that the lights in the living room were on. Seeing that, he wasn't surprised to glance over and see Brennan sitting on the couch. As he walked towards the living room, he quickly swept his disappointment under a mask so she couldn't see.

Brennan's head was bent as she read something in her hands and she didn't bother to look up at Booth as he approached.

"What're you reading, Temperance?" he asked softly as he stood beside her, looking down at but not reading the official looking papers she held. He only hoped that she wouldn't be able to start another fight from a question so small.

She looked up at him, absolutely firm solemnity in her blue-gray eyes. Her hands tightened on the pieces of paper in them. "It's an invitation," she said impassively. "I've been asked to travel to Africa to identify bodies." She paused, then added, "Several bodies."

"Oh," he said, eyes dropping to the floor. He considered it for a long, silent moment before he was able to bring them back up to meet Brennan's unwavering gaze. His throat tightened slightly, but he forced it back to normal to casually ask, "Have you already declined the invitation?" He hoped that she would answer yes, because if she didn't…

But she shook her head. "No, I haven't." Now she dropped her eyes away from his gaze. "I'm fairly certain I'm going to accept it."

Booth still clung to an inkling of hope. Maybe she wasn't saying what he thought she was saying. Maybe this wasn't what he thought it was. He hoped it wasn't. Despite that hope that was still flickering inside of him, his throat was dry when he shortly asked, "How long will it take?"

She looked up at him again, meeting his eyes with hers. "Undetermined," she answered evenly. "I won't know how long it'll take until I actually begin the work, but it's going to be at least a month, and I'd leave within the week."

"A month?" It took him a long time to process that as his throat went even drier. He tried to avoid the inevitable, still clinging to that rapidly fading spark of hope. "Can the Jeffersonian spare you now for that long?"

"Yes," she said simply. "They can, and they will."

His throat was tightening again, and he was beginning to start grasping at straws. "Tempe, please—" he started, barely choking out the words.

"Don't," she cut him off sharply, rising to her feet. "I don't want to hear you beg. This isn't working anymore." It was stated in the detached, factual tone she used for work. Her gaze was steady, even though he thought he might see tears starting in her eyes too. "It's not working and I won't pretend that it is."

"You don't know that yet," he argued. "We've just hit a rough patch. You don't know yet that we won't be able to work through it."

Her jaw set. "It isn't working, Booth," she said tightly.

Folding her arms, she turned away from him, and for a moment, he stood there stung as though she had slapped him. She'd called him Booth. He hadn't heard her call him by his family name in… a while. Not even at work. And it hurt to know that she'd distanced herself from him enough that she had relapsed to calling him that. It hurt deeply.

Finally, he recovered enough to regain his voice. "Temperance…" He spoke her name softly, but even that caused her to tense up and square her shoulders determinedly. He gripped those shoulders tightly and turned her around to face him. "Temperance, don't do this to me." His words were pleading, his voice was demanding. "Don't turn away and shut me out. Then it'll _never_ work."

"It already isn't working," Brennan argued. She sighed, and for the first time her voice softened at least a little bit. "I need some space, Seeley. And some time to sort things out in my head."

"Okay," he said, nodding. Maybe he could push her into some sort of compromise that didn't involve her leaving him completely. "I can deal with that. But not Africa, Tempe. That's too far."

She shook her head. "Anything else won't be far enough," she said solemnly. Then her chin set firmly again and her tone was determined. "I'm going to Africa, Seeley. You won't be able to stop me."

She shrugged his hands off of her shoulders and brushed past him. He watched her go into the back of the apartment, into the bedroom, and he watched as she closed and locked the door behind her.

With a sigh, he collapsed onto the couch and buried his face in his hands.

------

The next day, he awoke early, before the sun had even risen over the horizon. He had barely slept at all during the night, and not only because he was sleeping on the rather uncomfortable couch in the living room.

With a slight sigh, he threw his legs over the edge of the couch and sat up. He rubbed a hand over his face for a moment, trying to clear his head. When it didn't work, he got to his feet. He silently padded his way across the living room and down the short hallway to the bedroom.

Before she had fallen asleep last night, Brennan had unlocked and opened the door for Booth. Despite the invitation, he had decided that it was better for him to sleep on the couch. He was trying to give her space—what she claimed to want.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her. She was curled on her side, facing the empty side of the bed—his usual side—and sleeping peacefully.

Trying to be quiet though he doubted he'd wake his partner, Booth went into the room and quickly changed into fresh clothes. On the bed, Brennan rolled over in her sleep, and Booth turned to watch her. After shifting onto her opposite side, she laid still again.

He breathed a short sigh of relief. Then, unable to help himself, he wandered over to the bedside. Taking a knee, he knelt down face to face with his sleeping partner. After a brief hesitation, he gently traced her jaw line with a single finger and silently apologized for whatever it was he'd done wrong or whatever he hadn't done right.

Brennan's only reply was a slight snore.

With another short sigh, he stood up and slipped on a pair of shoes before leaving the bedroom. He got his car keys and slipped out of the apartment door, locking it back behind him.

And he got into his SUV and just drove. He didn't stop to think about where he was going, or if he was even going anywhere in particular. He just drove on pure, mindless instinct.

Before long, as the sun was rising and filtering through the forest that shadowed the highway he was on, he drove past a sign that announced he was now entering Virginia.

He kept on driving past it, barely even noticing it. DC or Virginia, he didn't care. The weight pressing in on his heart was still the same. He hadn't yet run far enough to escape it.

He'd driven probably ten miles past the "Welcome to Virginia!" sign when his car started to sputter and slow. Startled, he looked down and noticed that the gas indicator had dropped not to the E, but past it.

As the car rolled along, gradually slowing, Booth tried his best to steer it off the side of the road before it stopped completely. He barely got all four tires off of the blacktop and onto the grass before it came to a halt. He sighed disbelievingly. He'd really run out of gas in the middle of nowhere—ten miles from the next town, according to a sign not ten feet in front of him. He'd broken down in the middle of nowhere before—who hadn't—but he'd never run out of gas like this. Never.

He banged his head against the steering wheel a couple of times—thinking _stupid, stupid, stupid!_—before he forced himself to stop. As he turned the key back and the car off, he looked up and down the road in both directions. He saw no other vehicles coming or going. With another sigh, he fumbled around, searching for his cellphone and hoping that he had a signal out here. He couldn't find it anywhere.

He then realized he must've left it at the apartment this morning.

Groaning slightly, he opened his door and stepped out onto the springy grass of the road's shoulder, wet with morning dew that wouldn't evaporate for hours yet. He looked up and down the road again, but he still saw no one coming. After closing the car door and locking it, he set off walking down the road in the direction of the nearest town.

The sun had barely risen, and golden light was just barely beginning to filter through the forest that skirted both sides of the road. The air wasn't yet stiflingly humid, for which Booth was infinitely grateful. If he had to walk ten miles in July, he was glad it was in the morning, before the heat set in. He was also glad that today was a lazy Saturday, so he didn't have to worry about hurrying to get anywhere.

He had no plans for today. No work, no date planned with Brennan, no—

He stopped, and thought over that line again. No date planned with Brennan.

A pang of heartache shot through him as that thought sank in again. There would be no more dates with Brennan. None. Because, according to her, things were over. And within the week, she was going to leave him.

He started walking again.

He didn't know what in the world he could've possibly done that had made her want to leave like this. Two weeks ago, before she'd started on this fighting binge, he'd thought everything between them was perfectly fine and that they were both happy. Apparently, he'd been naïve and deceived.

He had to have done_ something_ to aggravate or offend her.

Maybe he'd _forgotten_ something. Mentally, he ran back through the past two weeks, thinking of the dates between now and then. No, he didn't remember missing any anniversaries, birthdays, or anything of that sort.

Maybe he'd _said_ something. Again, he thought back over the past two weeks. He didn't remember saying anything that could've offended or angered her. Not even a humorous slight or a bit of poking fun that might've been misconstrued as serious.

Maybe he'd _done_ something. For a third time, he let his memory scan back over the past couple of weeks. He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary that might annoy Brennan, nor had he neglected to do anything that he usually did. At least as far as he could remember he hadn't.

He couldn't think of anything he'd forgotten, anything he'd said, or anything he'd done that could've made Brennan want to leave. Nothing at all came to mind. But there had to be a reason. Brennan always had a reason.

He _had_ to be missing something.

A fourth time, he ran back through everything. But again, he came up with absolutely nothing. Absolutely positively nothing.

Angry with himself, he kicked a stray rock on the side of the road and watched it skitter along the slight downward curve of the road ahead. Eventually, it rolled to a stop. In twenty steps, he was beside it again. And again, he kicked it with the toe of his shoe and carefully watched it tumble down the blacktop before he hung his head and stared blankly at his walking feet.

Brennan was leaving, and he didn't even know what he'd done.

That irked him to no end. It meant he couldn't even apologize for whatever it was he'd done. How was he supposed to make a case for himself and plead with Brennan to stay if he didn't even know where he stood with her?

Angrily, he kicked the rock again, listening but not watching as it skittered along. This time, slowly rolling uphill as the angle of the road changed, it didn't go nearly as far before stopping.

When the clicking sound of rock against asphalt ended sooner than he expected, Booth glanced up and noticed for the first time that he was no longer walking along a downhill road, but up one side of a small bridge. The bridge, which looked rather old, spanned a wide but shallow mountain creek that rushed rapidly over flat river rocks of varying sizes before cascading over a small waterfall forty feet past the other side of the bridge.

Bending down, he swept up his rock and held it tightly against his palm as he continued to walk up the bridge. When he reached its peak, he moved to the guardrail and looked down. Murmuring as though it were telling secrets as it flowed along, the clear water rapidly rushed under and past him towards the waterfall behind him.

Opening his palm, Booth studied the stone in his hand for a moment. It was just your average, everyday rock: dark gray, roughly circular, fairly heavy, coarse, and lumpy. Unlike the rocks below, it hadn't been worn smooth and round by the water.

Then he turned his palm over and let it drop.

_Plop!_

It landed in the creek below, and Booth watched it fall. Before it even hit the rocky bottom of the creek, the rushing water pushed the little rock along, making it tumble end over end, before it disappeared beneath the bridge and out of his range of vision. Shortly, it would plunge over the waterfall.

It hadn't even slowed the river down fractionally.

That was how he was feeling right now.

Brennan was the hurrying creek, rushing to tumble over the waterfall's edge. Rushing to leave and get some distance between her and Booth. And Booth… Booth was the little rock, just trying to fall into her path and stop her from going. And Brennan was just running right past him, not even slowing down to notice he was trying to stop her. And both of them were going to tumble over the edge and fall.

Right into the end of their relationship.

Disturbed by the thought, he turned and started walking down the road again, with a pace slightly quicker than it had been before he crossed the bridge. He tried not to think about anything, knowing his thoughts would inevitably go back to Brennan. Instead, he concentrated on the rhythm of his shoes against the blacktop.

By the time he passed the next sign—which announced that the town he was trekking towards was now five miles away—he was struggling to keep his head empty and thoughtless. He kept _wanting_ to think of her, which had previously been a pleasant thing for him, but he was stopping himself now.

Thinking about her was only going to cause him more grief, and he didn't know how much more of that he could take.

One of his feet caught on something and he stumbled forward, but he caught himself before he fell down. Righting himself, he glanced back over his shoulder to see what it was he'd nearly tripped over.

It was a rock. Looking remarkably similar to the one he'd dropped into the creek a few miles back.

In an instant, all of the walls he had constructed in his head to keep him from thinking of Brennan crumbled down and fell into complete ruin. The analogy ran through his thoughts again, and in his mind's eye, he was that rock and Brennan was that creek. And she was just running right past him.

He turned and started off again. This time, he was somewhere between walking and jogging. His footsteps weren't a casual rhythm in his ears anymore—they were a quicker, more complex one.

Again, he forced himself into thoughtlessness by listening only to that rhythm, and nothing that bounced around inside his head.

Before long, he came upon a railroad track that intersected the road in front of him. He slowed, and came to a stop in the middle of them. In both directions, the trees of the forest had been cleared around the railroad tracks, and light from the rising sun poured in on him from the east.

Though he was starting to sweat from five miles of walking and three of jogging, he welcomed the heat that accompanied the light. It helped to thaw the chill that had set in over his broken heart.

Somewhere in the eastern distance, a train whistle blew low, long, and loud, clearly signaling to Booth and everyone else standing on the nearby tracks that it was headed their way. It still sounded like it was quite a ways off, and Booth doubted that he was in any danger of being run over by the train at the moment. It was a good thing, because he felt like he was invisibly rooted to the spot, as though his feet were glued to the tracks on which he stood.

And suddenly, he had an irrational urge to stop the oncoming train.

It took him a moment of standing there on the tracks in the rising July sun to realize what had caused the abrupt desire inside of him.

Here he was, standing in the middle of the train's path. Just like the little rock that he'd thrown into the creek some miles back. But despite the fact that he was standing in the way, that train was still rolling obliviously down the tracks towards its destination. Just the way that the creek rushed right over and past the rock to get to its goal.

And just the way Brennan was that creek, she was also that train.

The train whistle blew again, and Booth turned away from his contemplation of the railroad tracks it was traveling on. He took off towards the town again, this time neither walking nor jogging.

Now he was running.

-----------

About two and a half hours later, when the clock in Booth's SUV read 10:35 AM, he pulled up in front of the apartment building again. This time, he didn't waste any time in getting out and setting up the stairs. On the way home, he'd come to a resolution. He was going to do all he could to stand between Brennan and leaving.

He might not be able to do anything, but he was damn sure going to try.

As he mounted the stairs, the images of the rock in the stream and him standing in the middle of the railroad tracks raced through his brain. He shoved them down with forced determination. If he let himself think like that, there was no way he was going to win this battle.

When he reached the door to their apartment, he didn't hesitate either. He turned the key and opened the door. "Tempe?" he called hesitantly.

"Here," she responded lightly, and Booth heard an accompanying rattle of dishes in the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, he started across the living room to round the dividing wall between it and the kitchen—the dividing wall between him and Brennan.

And, as his shin struck something, he nearly met face-to-face with the living room carpet. He caught himself before he fell though, and stood staring at what it was he'd tripped over.

It was a set of suitcases. All fully packed.

His throat was dry again.

But still he found the strength to move on, and he stepped over the suitcases and rounded the dividing wall. Brennan had her back to him as she placed clean dishes in their various cabinets, and Booth let himself watch her for a moment. When the pang of heartache flushed through him, though, he remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

He cleared his throat. "So… I don't guess a good night's sleep changed your mind." It wasn't really a question, but a statement.

"No." The word came through Brennan's lips cold and precise. A plate clinked as she set it on top of a stack of identical ones. She paused, and glanced over her shoulder at Booth. "You saw my suitcases."

He nodded, swallowing against the lump in his throat. "Yeah."

She turned away again. A few more dishes clattered before she spoke again. "I called them today," she said quietly. "They wanted me to come as soon as possible." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "I've already booked the flight. I leave the day after tomorrow; Monday morning."

His heart sank. Less than two days…

"Why so soon?" he asked.

She closed the open cabinets and hung up the dishtowel she'd been using. "It makes sense. Things are over. I should leave as soon as possible. That way there's less stress involved for both of us."

He disagreed. The sooner she left, the more stress was placed on him.

Starting to open his mouth to plead with her, he remembered the plans he'd formed on the way over here. And he closed his mouth. Begging would get him nowhere—reasoning was what Brennan understood. Firm, solid reasoning. And so that's what he had to have if he wanted this to work.

He cleared his throat. "But, Tempe, if you leave so quickly, you're sure to forget something." _Like my heart_, he added mentally as he continued aloud, "You know. Leave something that you want to take with you."

She turned to face him then. "Whatever I forget or leave here, you can just have," she said, both her tone and her stare flat and pitiless. It was the same look she used when she was trying to distance herself from a victim she was investigating. Booth wished he'd never had to be on the receiving end of that look.

His line of reasoning started to crumble inside his head. She was already distancing herself from him in order to spare herself pain. He had little chance of closing the gap: she was already widening it between them. The physical distance between them—around six feet—felt like so much more.

"If you leave so soon, we won't even have the chance to… try and work things out," he tried.

She took a couple short steps closer. "You have until Monday morning," she said, "to 'work things out' with me." There was certainty in her voice, as if she knew nothing he said would change her leaving. She probably believed that.

And, he begrudgingly admitted, it was… probably true.

Heartbroken again by that thought, he took the few steps to close the gap between them and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. For a moment, she stood stiff against him. Then slowly, she relaxed into the embrace, winding her arms around his lower back and laying her head on his chest.

One of his hands absently began to stroke her hair as he let his eyes drift closed. He wanted to remember this as much as he possibly could to get him through the lonely nights ahead. He wanted to remember her in every sense…

"What'd I do, Temperance?" he asked quietly. He had to know.

She shook her head slightly. "Nothing."

He opened his eyes to look down at her. "What didn't I do?"

She shook her head again. "Nothing. You did… everything right."

Her eyes looked wistful and distant, like she wasn't here in her thoughts, but he saw pain in them when she spoke. Concerned, he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but he blinked and the pain was gone from her eyes. Replaced with determination and resolve.

And he just held on tighter, hoping that there was yet something he could do.

------

The next morning, he was at mass like he was every Sunday. He tried to keep his mind on the service, he really did, but all he could think about was one late night when he and Brennan had sat in this church together…

The memory made him ache for her again.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he began silently praying that God would somehow intervene here. That he could somehow or someway—_any _way—stop Brennan from leaving. He prayed that through the entire mass; the entire way home from mass; the whole day he spent trying and failing to reason with Brennan; the entire sleepless night he spent alone, even though she was laying right beside him, until the morning light broke and banished the night.

Along with his hopes.

-----

He'd offered to take her to the airport to catch her flight. The longer he could go with her, the longer he could put off the heartache. He might even be able to steel himself against it somehow, if only he could follow her until she got on that plane and headed off to Africa.

But she'd declined. Instead, Angela was chauffeuring her to the airport early this morning.

Brennan was already up, moving around and gathering last minute things while Angela was on her way. Booth hadn't sleep at all that night, but he'd pretended that she woke him up when she rolled out of bed that morning. He'd blinked sleepily for a few minutes while Brennan got dressed on the other side of the room, then he sat up to watch her move around and collect her things.

She was leaving. She was really leaving. And she was leaving today—right now.

Booth's throat tightened again.

Across the room, Brennan looked at the final bag of possessions she'd packed and sighed. Then she glanced over her shoulder at Booth, and he noticed that she looked a little weary. There was no weariness in her voice though when she asked, "Want some breakfast?"

He offered a light smile. "Yeah, thanks."

She nodded, then turned and walked out to the kitchen.

Closing his eyes, he sighed. Today was going to be a very rough day. Especially considering he was going to have to go to work anyway after Brennan left. He'd considered calling in and asking for a day of personal leave, but then again, maybe work would be able to take his mind off of things.

Sighing again, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He could hear Brennan moving around in the kitchen, making breakfast, as he made his way to the bathroom. He was startled when he looked up at his reflection in the mirror and saw the dark half-circles beneath his eyes. He was drained, for sure, over this whole matter including his lack of sleep, but he hadn't expected it to show so much physically.

Shaking his head at himself, he reached over and started the shower running.

After taking a short, hot shower and getting dressed, he didn't feel any better. He did look a little better, though. The dark circles under his eyes were a little less prominent as he made his way out to the kitchen.

When he got there, he found Brennan setting down a pair of coffee cups beside two plates of scrambled eggs. She merely glanced up at him and sat down in front of one of the plates. He took the hint and sat down in front of the other.

They ate in silence, Booth forcing the food down despite the fact that he wasn't even remotely hungry. Brennan, on the other hand, finished quickly and put her plate in the sink before returning to sip at the rest of her coffee.

Booth was nearly done when the doorbell rang.

As Brennan got up to go let Angela in, Booth's heart sank. It was time.

He didn't even bother with the rest of his eggs, or with putting away his plate and cup, but got up and followed Brennan into the living room. She opened the door to Angela, who smiled slightly.

"Morning, sweetie," she said to Brennan. "Ready to go?"

Brennan nodded. "Yeah, let me go get the rest of my stuff."

As Brennan disappeared into the bedroom to get the last bag of her things, Angela looked over at Booth. "Hey, Booth," she said softly, and he could see the sympathy in her eyes. She knew what Brennan was doing was hurting him. Her voice dropped down to a mere whisper. "I'm sorry."

He nodded numbly. Angela's sympathy was of no solace.

Brennan returned then, shouldering her bag. "I'm ready, Ange," she said.

"I'll help you carry your bags," Booth offered, moving towards her pair of suitcases. She wouldn't let him take her to the airport. At least he could carry her bags down to the car that would take her there.

"No." Brennan's voice stopped him cold, and he glanced over at her. She had that distant look in her eyes again. "Don't bother. Angela and I can get them, Seeley. We don't need you."

If he hadn't already felt numbed from his heartache, he would've been stung by that thinly veiled remark. As it was, he just nodded slowly.

Angela glanced up at him, the sympathy even more evident in her eyes as she picked up Brennan's suitcases: one in each hand. She turned and headed out the door, leaving Booth and Brennan for their last goodbyes.

He stood there dully, waiting for her to move. She looked at him for a long moment, then finally moved to close the distance between them. Letting the shoulder strap slide, Brennan dropped her duffel bag to the floor and wrapped her arms around Booth's neck. Reflexively, he returned the embrace. And he held on tight. If only she wasn't going…

She let go, and he reluctantly followed suit.

Stepping back slightly, she looked up into his eyes. He saw that brief flash of pain cross her blue-gray eyes again, but as before, it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same cold and distant gaze.

She stepped forward again to drop a quick kiss on his cheek. "Bye, Seeley," she whispered in his ear. And then she was stepping back again, picking up her duffel bag and swinging the strap onto her shoulder.

"Bye, Tempe," he managed to reply, though the words were catching in his throat.

And she turned away and moved towards the door.

The images flashed through his mind again. The train was coming. The river was running. Rushing right over and past him, despite all he'd done to stop it. He was standing vulnerably on the railroad tracks, and getting tossed and tumbled around like the helpless stone in the river.

She stepped out the door, and brought it sharply closed behind her.

Booth crumbled onto the couch.

The train wasn't the only thing coming. The river wasn't the only thing running.

Pain was coming, boiling out from all of the places he'd tried to stuff it and hide it over the past two days. Tears were running, welling up in his eyes and distorting his vision before falling down his cheeks.

And there was nothing he could do to stop either one. He was as helpless as he'd been in trying to stop Brennan's leaving.

* * *

**TBC in part 7: Long Trip Alone.**

** Please review!  
**


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